Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Julian Apr 2020
Floating above the rifts of apperception I glaze over the gaudy faucets of imagined vector thrusts in hibernation by the lucubration of space-time materialized crystal in the somber beats of fetched farrago of choice slices in delicate hums of hemmed balance rantipole only in ethereal importance but otherwise supersolid above the sprauncy vagrancy of dilettantism. We shout a clarion virtuosity so that the conclamation of neovitalism conjures upon a spell of lapse and regress a motive for further crystallization of epidemiology into harmony with syndicated admonition sleek in design and parceled into renown by feats of completion rather than slugabed gregarious fountains of wasted ingenuity bleeding from the vacuum of an empty hearth in a hospitable dwelling otherwise cleared of imperfection. Right now, I levitate with transcendence with an approximated eidetic memory that is the surgical vibrancy of renewal rather than the chameleons of hidden talents buried by the walls of Jericho sounding tocsins of alarm that the anointed favor of choice destruction is only an encircled rapture of rhapsodies of confluence found in axiomatic truths ribbed with the futtocks of seaworthy but cauponate recidivism into the donnybrooks of apocryphal revelation preceding the whimsical fall of cascading permanence just as gravity so ordained it. We breathe the life of the ethereal numinous spirit of isangelous repute because we navigate the exquisite cobweb of reconciliation to surpass all understanding in peace what would be a miscegenated carcass of war otherwise apart from the incidental apartheid of the drones of causality ignoring the antecedent reality too much to register fathomed streaks of preventive endeavor because of the scars of a scrappy schlep of the rampicks of ecbolic servitude to moth-eaten star-crossed lovers of the mean menagerie of gutless succor renowned only in tepid rejections of harbingers bequeathed in succession but ignored because of the procession of “Billie Jean” politics.

   The citadel aflame with controversy buttresses carnality by witless contaminants of hidebound scaldabancos of ineffable destitution so craven in eisoptrophobia for their hypostasized indolent fatuousness of capitulation that they are but a minor punctuation in the largesse of centuries to favor audacity in candor over the prevarications of catastrophe to dented human pride against humane dictates of theodicy in fatalism that predestination experimented with its own vaulted verve to find permanent solutions engraved in the agrapha of time to solidify the redintegrated truth of God’s divine stewardship above the quisquilous deism of former regnant centuries of blench and blandishment. We revolt at the specter of rot only when the effluvia of disgust elevates the visceral reality above the utilitarianism of recycled prim nuisances of noisome lineage that yet balk because they are bereft of attention but not a vacant talent and therefore should the subsidies of man surpass the ignorance of appearances he will shrug of the demur of the scrimshank and sharpen his scrivello in the service of redemption found through cultivated prowess of gardens beneath where rivers flow above a cubic centurion of embattled visages of the heavens becoming the rampart for the vestigial clarity of Secret Masters to foresee the bypass that heals decadence and rebukes the formalism of puritan endeavor to sweat with exhaustive patience over the gossamer intertesselations of a ripe reality rather than a groveled fragmentary world shattered too much by exigent metanoia to mount the crenellated catchpole of vigilant enmity towards the stew of listlessness found in epigone and farce more than in organic fortunes. We flip the upheaval of society to squander our proportionate degrees of wealth on the necessity created by dire quandary which enamors by interrogations of pulchritude the verisimilitude of participle ivory dalliance of etched canvasses of simultagnosia for the librations of the liberated rings of betrothed liberation despite profound lurches of the mistetches of ignorance presiding dismally over the hulked disdain of glamborge rather than resselenque.

     The winter is a poor porcine glut of ciconine swelters because the prickly obtuse recoil of the delopes of caution find their permeable balance with a sort of photographic photosynthesis that braves the dearth of reprieve for the reprisal of nostalgic deeds found in the docimasy of riveted reflections because the preordination of God is the superlative champion of the witeless grandeval protectorate of infinite concepts guarded from the parvanimity even of the most strident minds squabbling over the braseros and battues of history as though those funereal stains of lachrymose regret outweigh the traditions of vaunted human progress because they are finicky about importunate pleas of subsidiary injustice rather than fulminations of the modern rebuttal to the disclaimers of an uneven history that shepherds the doubts of nihilism into ripe fruition at the expense of very expensive moral rot for the codlings of urbacity and mendaciloquence used to foment that tribalism of totemic justice. We see in Penuel the wrestling match of specters and heroic giants documented on the ageless pages and we notice the ironic twinges of struggle that kneaded the propriety of gentilian privilege that ultimately fostered an insurrection against chosen bravado among those that sear with zeal beyond the yordim afflictions of yobbery because the Jewish heart is stronger than any calamity even if it departs from the reverence of the colporteurs of the integrated syncretism of the attempted monolith that beseeches polyphiloprogenitive growth in mindset rather than in testy abeyance of forbearance because of known scrutinies into the tropology of wilted facts remanded by curious historicity that crumples without disdain when we memorialize the erasure of scepsis by modern standards of thaumaturgy.

    The minauderies of growth are a repositioned tacit allegiance to the untold fanfare and hearsay immunized against the broach of facetious levity to buoy discordant hearts above fumatoriums of relentless ignorance because coherent masterwork can be cobbled without such lapidary toil and toll on sincere affectations of wizened brevity. The seismic precautions for the forefathers of incidental convergences between expectancy and crystallized history are an ironic intortion of priorities because the heralds and tribunes matched the peerless foresight with the gerrymandered figments of apartheid between the imaginary and the real so that the delicate synchrony of events could unfurl a riveting carapace from the shells of protection even in amiable squalor for its impenitent attrition on the volleys of sensible rumor becoming fashioned in covert bedazzled errors in judgment leading to the triumph of the eventual civilization over the futtocks of the burial of the former trekleador of zenkidu belonging to provincial cadasters found so tucked in the hedges that discernment of frikmag would be an indelible scourge on the biognosy of the diagnosed endeavors that elapsed into remediated circumstances that brave the depths of deontological violation for the breadth of apportioned loaves and two swanky fish earning a place among the miracles of transcendent liberation from articles of decree imperious by sardonic disdain becoming nullified by the histrionics of a delicately staged orchestra that cements human achievement.

       We relish the frescades of a ruffled autumnal reminder of flourish above pothers of the screed of admonition swamped by nostalgic backtracks in the séance with ultimatum of design and the impregnated and carnal lusts of a world pitched in darkness with guarded lambent lights fomenting a perjury against tact for the deliverance of freedom in tacit agreement with owleries that every bonanza be tithed in their favor regardless of hibernation of spoilsports or their subsidiary remarks on indelible quills of invented manufactured realities we crave with desperation rather than cower from in requited nescience urging us to depart from affairs and stagnate the loyalty of fealty above the limber of utility mobilized above levities for solemn remarks and rejoinders. Promulgated above the robotic rubble of staffage haywire in wiredrawn contemplative resonance of tremulous subterfuge vestigial but immediate to the yardsticks of reprehensible malarkey, is the barnstorm for erratic dimples sauntered by the saunas of shelter above the chaos of ruined ginnels for the gimcracks of auxiliary duty to service, is the glorification of the sultry intimations of legions of remonstrance in guarded decorum about sunken atrocities lapsed in memorial to the incumbent brunt of sockdolagers of justice returning revenants from the bridewell of historical internment. The symphily of orchestras to cineaste symposiasts of surquedry in impudence beyond the brays of betrayal is the aborning mythos of regimented perceptions of a world that when magnified by minutiae appears starkly contrast to the gapped gubbertushed reality of the average patron of the arts to such an extreme gulf of receptive understanding that the qualia are dovetailed only in the swink of careful kisswonks to certify certitude itself when all the fragments coalesce into subjoined harmony to the substructures of inherent conscientiousness. The miracles at work that are vesicles and vessels for the swage of imprint above the loyalty of the imprinted tribunes of the fluminous is how hidden protrusions can emerge so victorious over popularized glazes on the pastures of a farmed culture itching for timmynoggies of innovation but only finding the etched remarks of pristine imagos of heroism dwindling in motivation to surpass the imaginative leaps accustomed to a newfangled laziness that bedazzles the guzzle of crowds but not the discrimination of the crowded morass of incompletion found in mosaics missing enigmatic philters of intoxicated love for the profound. So to be intermediary as a custodian for artistry we must cozen the wheedled imaginations not of the relic but the archaeologist that discovered the embedded prisms of attentive scrutiny for glinting sunshine inherent in troves of surpassed excellence beyond parochial sympatric blandishment of donnism rather than a resselenque that floats above demeanor to usher the cosseted age of treasure above the glib brocards and florews of past success.

      Immanent to the provisions of God as decreed from a syncretic reconnaissance of the pitiable gulfs that separate boundless divine love from the clavigerous potential for scrappy sympatric affiliation to **** through the barnstorms of internal comestions of conflated priorities we are ourselves prismatic in the indulgence of a tasty life sprinkled with zest rather than tempered with the vengeance of retorted animosity that we knead the pottery of ironclad resistance to a metallic conduit of pruned fulminations of unguided intuition so that the natural accord supersedes the goad of materialism for the sustenance of antiquity beyond its heyday for vital gains against the tauricide of panic and frenzy. The linchpin of all realistic attempts at the sympatric symphily of civilization is a guided remorse through the torment of affliction that sizzles without anteric barbs as it measures through engrenage how to pilot the vehicles of prosperity through the minefields of contingency that invisibly bequeath new hurdles and inestimable obstacles that collude surreptitiously to fulminate measured controversy against the backbites of restrained equipoise created by polities of the macadamized fabric of a welded smithy of a universe that with ubiquity proclaims above the senseless the harvest of conjugal repartee in sensible pride against militant bastions of incidental prejudice for a careen against the flyndresques of danger and the flyndrigs of glaikery alike for a humane spurt of enlightenment to tower peerlessly in supervision of entelechy created by esemplastic unity in apolaustic purpose. We cannot be puritans engaged in a pilgrimage to a palimpsest of priggishness because the daring elements of adventurism are necessary ingredients to catalyze the supply-chain of the innate gluttony of ego-seeking endless balance with a natural sustained biognosy that prizes biocentric harmony above bibliognost scepsis so that the enthused can flock with liberty divorced from libertinism. The ultimatum is a war between hedonism wed with donnism against eumoirety and self-restraint and this battle will be waged on the indolence of a future of cordslave tethers to interrogation of privy conceptualism hamshackled by the gradgrinds into the neat nexility of precise conformity that blacklists the samizdat because the genizah profoundly twists the already jumbled jengadangle and provides a junediggle of procession and ceremony rather than pomp without substantial grit embedded in the showmanship of a reality in need of a fourth-wall.

        It is ironic how we bewrayed our stewardship of the planet as a plenipotentiary sentience waged against the vesicles of instinct but more fundamental to this tattered but pregnant psalm is that the stronghold of our future is the tenacity of filial duty to enthrone the household with husbandry and restraint as an emolument to divine justice that sparkles opalescent in its own redacted notions of gravity imperfect in the taradiddles of science but refined by the eclat of the combustible syncopation of a reiterative trope of realism combined with surrealist caprice to henpeck affectionate violation above inviolable screeds of blood sport rather than conjugal affections afforded to the brood and the feast of the flocks that rein supreme over all things but exert inclement justice over the cattle and chattel of civilization itself. The minkumpf against the sacrilege of a prioritized kosher is to abhor the suffering rather than embrace the penitence of perceived but specious sacrifice which is an ornery thorn on the stained conscience of the yobbery of both the apikoros and the obedient because to attenuate all suffering even of instinctual beings we anneal our hearts to a glorified compassion that supersedes the relegated relics of pushful genuflection by succedaneum of sacrifice waged against the docile whangams of otiose theodicy. The filibusters against the regnant complexity of regalia that is a sprauncy poivrade with terpsichorean flairs to transmute the intimations of hibernated perfidy into finicky transmissions for the riometers that accord orbific merit in a lackluster time enchant the rollicking audience of this auditorium of the prevenance of the conquered universe bracing for the camorra of the insipid entreaty of defalcated casuistry—the prominent exchequer in hoodwinked political agitprop that forges ironclad allegiances to flimsy facades of the verisimilitude of dignity with recalcitrant but incondite bruits of venom militant against secular apostasy—that the fitful arrivistes that swim in dire dearth will be welcomed into the reconciliation of all time with a tempered lurid glint of revelation bounded by sunken albatross of hype unbounded with a peace insurmountable in prestige rewarded only with the highest reservations.


    On 3-1-2020 when I penned my philosophy—even at a slowpoke margin of crafty precision above rapid empirical faucets of folly—I was entirely selfsame with the autotelic engravings of the smoldering aboriginal talents within that many can swing through by tenacity for enormous plaudit but a flagrant majority will apprehend with flippant scollardical tenets of rebuke and remain honest in their appraisal only in meek resignation of parvanimity.
Consider the postulates of rarefaction whittled into a vehement zeal against the prostitution of our species to the anteric cycles of residual molds of dingy spectacle mired by the tyrannical towers of supercilious squirms of revamped novelty rather than enhanced by the freebooters of dirigisme that borrow from time the behest of philandered flairs divorced from the cadges of secular instinct and enthroned by the qualms of engineered virtuosity that is stark, barren but peerless in its outstretched clamor for luxuriant sprees against the silentium of grandeval asylum incurred by the flippant filigrees of recalcitrant modernism endangered by the irredentism of the future upon the whimsy of the present-minded momentary glare of rapture.  This impending architecture of nimble but subservient endeavor is a pinprick rejoinder against the wernaggles of prepossessed fountains of configured animosity against the stapled heed of a modality of trayned invictive invectives against the plodding course of fustilugianation that swerves in apathy of autopilot junediggle to emanate the surrender of epigone to the raktendure of the synaesthesis of the attuned perception of all superimposed minutiae delegated by calculated design into a synclastic focus on veiled caprice that is vaulted above the choppy and sketchy verdure of remiss perception to stellar continuities rather than mundane knickpoints of stodged blurs that magnify syncretic qualia into baseline congruity rather than staid torpefied resignation of the visage of thunder without the pangs of the widely vituperated lightning that bequeaths all certain notions but flouts the tortious saboteurs of the prim trucage of brittle fundamentalism.

     As the flawed paragon of a picaresque youth punctuated by vibrant plumage of self-wrought tropophilous usucaption of remote groomed frontiers of desolate luxury but buoyant morale into the ballasts of a nimble usufruct that hikkles yet still against still-framed thilloire--fatuous in endearment only to the polity of the waterdrip of craven but gravid disingenuous flickers of lambent cloaks of perfidy—that earned its birthright by meditative fruition rather than prodigal tallespin of indolent frapplanks of a vicarious personage rather than an autotelic haecceity showcases the folly of heterodyne inclinations meeting an impasse of accidental dislodgement. The interregnum between the spurts and sprees of luxuriance is a staid pause between continuities of afforded parlance becoming stapled demographic solidarity affixed to a strident gallop of effortful pushes against the tenacity of the slumberous wicked hibernation of vetust magpiety without hieratical internment because youthful industry beats hackneyed bludgeons of wiseacres of a stilted manufacture of steamy nostalgia for lickerish moments that dignify but undermine moral virtues but splash anointed and sometimes disjointed favor upon the congeners to a rabid escapade of a heedless love frowning on the girdles of the prim balderdash of heralded jolts dim on levity and puffed with elusive contextualized control of libidinous serrated defilement because the crotaline **** outmantles the sweedled limber of exploitable folly. The cosseted reality of wheedled gourmands of continuous perception rather than the Gaussian blur of the protean invention of stitches in time that obscure rather than magnify the supernal levity inherent to most artistry is a linchpin of lenient gravitas that levies the lavaderos of ripe perception into annealment.
Excuse the bravado of the gait of winnowed forks in a bronteum for heralds of megaloscopy fastened to the macroscian reality of indelible filigrees of countermanded controversy becoming its best behest in the sempiternal flowering of burgeoned demonstration rather than illustrious overhang of drab slabs of manufacture rather than organism that should be interposed between the constellated concepts of both apperception and the aggrieved counselors to obtuse obsessions that are an improper tutelary for a designated reprisal of the once profane now immediately gratified by ramshackle tenets of a guarded sublimation of the tenets of post-modernism into a sustained force of the internalized tabernacle of haecceity shepherded into exuberance by the manumission of spirit from the ******* of purblind scalds of defamation that incurs the penalty of flippant privation. The refuge the Lord provides is not contingent upon the vagaries of deliberation nor the calculus of oversight but the remontant amaranthine glower of a listed deed becoming an eternal reminder that a dismantled and disjointed world fathoming only remorse rather than the trudge of gentility against the headwinds of brunt asperity will always flout the successor rather than atone for the failure of the imponent condition that constellates around rudimentary drivel grubbing the momentary out of avarice for allotted merchandise rather than glommed magnets to amoeba sentiments for the kisswonk of ulterior motive beyond dungeons of desperation that lurk ghoulishly with spectral frights at the disfigurement of morale created by errors askew rather than a contagion of righteous valor.

   Ask the heedful servant if the captaincy of reneged commitment owes homage to dutiful instruction or whether it is a balking corpse of necrosis accorded to the omphalism of brutish carnal repose in times of sedentary silt siphoned in spelunked rijuice for preordination is a predominant specter for a world scared scurrilous and skittish in a diatribe against the very notion of tribal screeds embedded in the sedimentary heft of traditionalism above the pother of vacillation commended to the apikoros but counterfeit fiat system of a ruddy governance without a supreme magistrate. Now lets venture into the territory of visagists as we envision the swanky subversion of impoverished and nebbich visions of oligochrome that fixates on belabored but dead notions of rigid propriety and levitate above those concerns with a querulous transcendence that never wernaggles about the profaned irrelevance of burlesque tropes of sidereal friction but instead memorializes the thermolysis of permeable endeavor above staid countenances of imposture that lurk in the shadowy penumbra of the connivance of persona above the archetype of the tutelary guardian spirit that through windlass and sometimes deliberation affixes nobility to even the pedestrian in order to assize its proper proportions to granular ironies expounded into megalography transformative by the very rivets of its supersensible existence and cohabitation with histrinkage among human taboos.

   The handiwork of a permeable race prone to exacerbated proclamations of prerogatives bulldozed by the rapid percolation of insoluble quandaries to the gripes of the feast of foofaraw sometimes shelters our otherwise regnant concern about the plenipotentiary God that observes all latent affairs without the paramours that conflate vivid carnality with appeased luxury and superimposes a crafty system of seismic shifts in rantipole dances with numinous flux rather than dissipated militant suppression of the fracklings of dissolute pollution which swirk in their dastardly desperado endeavors to corral the entire monoliths that guard each province into a winnowed rumble of rubble by tarnish of Tyre rather than by the upstart rejoinders of Canaan. Every creature which has the capacity to perceive language is afforded benedictions by the overhailing force of the hypaethral heights of superlative ingenuity founded in the bolted speculation of the endearment of all to tropological seesaws embattled against the hearsay of nyejays that contaminates the telmatology of the ecosystem of revivalism rather than buries the leaden debts of the disjointed revenants of past prominence into recycled irrelevance for posterity rather than for anything but a machination of a clockwork apple rigged for a rotten worm to swindle the sweet delicate tempests of unforeseen disaster to perjuries against financial solidarity.

The spinsters of sardonic drollery underscore the imminence of an incondite cutthroat collapse blackguarded by the hucksters of incontinence grubbing every fetched noisome notion and congealing a bonnyclabber of desiccated mildew that proves vestigial when the victors of time earn their joyous serenade to the pinnacle of the totem of jaundice slits in wavy endeavors for the participles of sejungible syntax of the ephorized furor to outlast the draksteng of droned dereliction manned by half-baked spies of ulterior recitals for imprinted vicissitude in supremacy in synquest for frizzlounges rather than the pedestrian circulatory system of careworn polity. We vaporize the petty hatred of sympatric regelation that neuters the virulence of motivated impediments to the draconian surge of asperity that sinks temporal haplessness as a regaled blasphemy that crowns only the ringed betrothal to spumid serrated halts in slick superstition that is a buggery to the idea of insectivores devouring the erratic chantage of germane germs that pauperize rather than even blind the deafened to be a crutch to vehicular homicide. Melismatic sennet is a dirigible of immense herculean sinew without the traces of vestibulary retches of kisswonked grisly tepid intimidations of eccedentesiasts by the radioglare of wizened corrugations in thanatism that exhort the avatars of narquiddity over the natural departure of revenant souls back to their temporary hostility to crass lifeless decarnate immediacy that slinks with foibles magnified by vertiginous heights of scollardical reputes rigged by the rijuice of the plackiques of meaningless spoils for swashbuckler bonanza borrowed from serrated vengeance exacted in prominence to provide false avenues of extenuation to malefaction that is confidant to the panopticon of exemplary dimples meager in the largesse of the composite realism of a sizable imprint on megalography that outlasts impertinent excuses for dangerous trout swimming against the mobilized selachostomous frizz of sharks gathering to avenge disclosure with insolence and gravid atrocity of incisive surgical evisceration of attempted depositions that falter by innumerable facets of countenance that belie ultimate realism and the perdurable construction of a sturdy hive of bibliognost revelry.

     Even with the blaring sennet of majesty inundating my piecemeal perception with the marstions of flarium that is an efficacy in a flaccid world of otiose pretenses limpid only in folly but contraplex in ironic skewbald skerries of grubbed destination that is the terminus of karezza despite the maledictions of vehement guarded betrayals that conjure up lurid noisome virility against the gamines and gallywows that populate interstellar fictions of virtu rather than mundane pragmatica that astound with the resselenque of contaminated skeumorphs of latent fracture belonging to a skeletonized ossified reification of farce above historicity in seemly seamless countenance with overwrought princely stature deserving integrity to ripples through sparkling opalescence. The vapid insularity of the self-contained mythos of appeased groundlings is based on the rhizic and rhizogenic fracklings destitute in predicative flares to swelter above stratospheres of the illimitable into the dwelling of the highest serenity inherent to the pacification of truth to neglect its egregious errors of mistetches of a ripened pachyderm of bravery in times of austerity and now a reclaimed notion of sempiternal charades swimming above the punitive draksteng of dranger that is enlarged by acclimated attempts at foiled raltention hikkling against its own superior forces of galvanized preterition to elide over screwball insanity of derangement in this virtual paradise of inhabited souls belonging to former times congregating on the pasture of the evanescence of now for all eternity having the optative condition of incarnation above the ferules of the stagnant brevity of oversight in heavenly realms by postulate but not confirmed by regal logic.

     The troponder of the flickered lambent niceties of polity is a countenance that piggybacks on simpered jostles of negligent engrenage to appease sworn enmities among beatific havens for certitude swarmed by the fisticuffs of darbied bridewells of desiccated drainage traversing the distant disdain for the gravel of cemented slits of stilted pragmatica that is a gavel of atrocious estoppel mediated by heroic heresiarchs against pitiable betrayal for forceful remedies in acclimated servitude to the groans and groaks of a life of remorse and dearth rather than the glut of luxuriance in forbearance to its own intorted mirrored ironies that etch infinity with every scrawled rejoinder to austere ploys of checkered rumbles of threat and exigency posed by the clairvoyant hypocrites who benefit greatly by the design of the omphalism above the frays and brays of corporate dogmatism slowly outmoded by vibrant plumages of heteronormative originality beyond petty chantage. A hesitation overcomes the bluster of bravado as the restive earnest concerns of tribulation beset the minauderies of divine affection to reaffirm the teachings of the Gospel so that future generations genuflect beneath the altar of the ultimate stroke of sociogenesis and the blood ransom of suffering that promoted the human latitude and liberty against incarcerated throngs of virtue over caesaraproprism accorded to genuflection beneath denarii rather than absolution by tether to the eternal vine of sensation of the supersensible entelechy of all valiant insurrections against defective polities and renewed policies.

     We thus seek a transdimensional bridge between the morphean virtu of rudimentary alchemy of propitiation divulged by leverage and the teeming rambunctiousness of fiduciary tribes to the ultimate duty of man to consummate the future of eternity even in slowpoke mannerisms that sidle through rigors of entelechy and assize the masterwork of tutelage above the circumforaneous entrenchment of glut above the mastery of the subtle subaudition that beleaguers an adept conflagration of harnessed human ignorance staid in the incarceration of exotic virtues of freewheeling sapience never vulnerary to hospitable concerns that entrenches the verisimilitude of a refracted justice to reign over the stultification of a primitivism inherent to man and not man alone.
Used some neologisms
hsyclara Jan 2019
Movie credits descend and sink
to the bottom of the tv screen;
Admire the time travel of a blink,
repositioned on the bed, not keen

Expired pills; motivating my pulse
Hands shifting; trying to keep up
and end this life which by day gets worse
Free this defunct soul and succumb

And in that moment,
the silent tear that doesn't cease formation;
i have surrendered, time is in halt
The sadness salt, in a state of reconstitution,

But death wasn't part of the victory
She was another night of bedridden dreary
Pre-measured mentality
part anxiety
part agony;
retaining me as an emissary
to unearth my mystery

where do my nightmares trail?
who fogs my thoughts at night?
who tallies off my breaths?

So yes, those pills;
those expired ******* pills
did not give me the answer
Instead, i woke up to another whisper
12.01.2014
Steve Page Jul 2016
Authorised, Amplified
New, Living, Revised.
Is Greek needed
to depict God’s vision?

Can repositioned prepositions
confuse the divine?

Will mislaid iotas
smear godly wisdom?

Authorised, Amplified
New, Living, Revised.
The Truth’s been guarded
regardless.

Repositioned prepositions,
jots and iotas
all serve to convey sacred wisdom.
2 Timothy 1:14
I was born in grave clothes
Raised in grave clothes
Unaware I even bathed in grave clothes
I didn't know the extent of my decay
Like the bones were expose in my face but I didn't have reflective glass to see my flesh
I was on a rotten path
Death would have been the only prize at the end of my race
Strongholds wrestled my thoughts and subdued my brain
Bone marrow deep I was linked to Adam
Lord knows I wasn't Abel
Dna tied to  blood imprinted on the ground I had more in common  with Cain
It's true a heart beat of sin causes death to course through vains
I wondered how could I be treated
Something was missing something was needed
To my shock it was Jesus
Clear! He got my heart beat right
With that resurrection power
Made my heart see light
He changed my life
I started to realize that the same power that raised Christ from the dead
Was the same power that lived in me
That does more than allow me to breathe .
It brings life back to limbs riddle with rigor mortis
It's reverses  decomposition brings back what death has stolen  
It's  uncontrollable like a lighting storm.
It's unadulterated
Once it hits
It's changes landscape  like when a nuclear warhead is detonated
Hoover dam generated power
Turbine engine spending power
Lift the dead out of sin power
Tectonic plate shifting, erecting mountains from plains power
By one name only can we be saved power
Second coming cracking the sky power
All knees shall bow and all tongues shall comply  power
Corruptible turned into incorruptible in a instant power
Rebirth repositioned repurposed repented power
Turn  what seems to be a lost into a win power
It is finish the precursor to the release of infinite power
I could never be the same because  the spirit lives in me gives me power
My arteries are laced with a burning flame
A roaring wind, a groaning earth, a raging sea crashing waves
The impact of several elements crush the chains of a slave
It's the same power that said come forth Christ friend walks out the grave
The same power that moved the stone a borrowed tomb turned to a cave
It's the power of the Resurrection
In a world full of aborted life
It breeds conception
In a world that attempts to abort Christ
The church still  cries out in reverence
Changed death for us now it's portal
Changed lives of stop watches into immortal
Resurrection power a glimpse into the eternal
They approached self-corrections with the necromancies of Leiak, they took the seven candelabra or Polyélaios, and the seven chalices or Diskopótira, immediate to the bags of the Fasmatémporos or breadbaskets, the crimes were archaically repositioned in this Mataki tablecloth enchanted by Leiak, the sin was self-correcting in the parallel line of the slip, doubly marked as a sin of omission, and a concessionary violation of the desire to correct oneself in the completely empty desert, holding hands with wax from the Kerós spell candelabrum or wax made by Aristeo's bees, for the pleasure of the avatars of presence in this inaugural banquet, for libations that spilled part of the lipoids of the Gethsemane bees, along with those of Aristeo to clean the ground mixed with parasitic spiders that ****** the milk that fell from their rituals. When night fell from the third dream, the Mataki was wrinkled by thousands of knots of arachnid legs, which mated with the spider's trochanter, bathed in milk and Corinthian wine. The precautions did not wake them up from the third dream, when they had just broken bread and made the libation for the first time with jugs that glowed superimposed on the icons of the Attic vessels, here is the lavish clothing of the entomological world under thousands of spiders overloaded in the Mataki, and this overloaded on the oak inn that supported it, towards the entire Tagmati in conformation of a model of hoplite spiders, which would gradually transform into specialized units, formed by the precautionary of Aristeo's bees when balancing the unevenness of the tables, Attaching them to the beards depicted in the icons of the vessels, where they saw these images of the future and the past with the Tagmati with Byzantine expressions of Constantine V, and with Philip II providing funding for the new military uniform of the hoplites, completely financed by the coffers Greeks, naming him hegemon of Amphibiousness, after Philip entered central Greece winning at bat Alla de Queronea (338 BC) to the Thebans and Athenians allies, here seven thousand of the fallen Athenian and Theban allies, graced the figure of Demosthenes, for new vessels encrypted with iconic images of Philip "Lover of the Steeds" where a spear crosses hearts in the offspring of his horses, and in his heart too, wronged by the page Pausanias de Oréstide as a royal guard.

Gradually the table was made with more guests represented in the numismatics that ran through the hindrance of the cornucopia, and in the majolica that classified the blood represented right there, on free floors to self-correct for the entire ****** campaign executed by Filipo, and his corrupt but unifying mission to dissuade providential enemies, unworthy to sit at the historical table of the Amphibian, remembered in these vessels, on top of the Mataki that absorbed liters and liters per second the blood, which was drained by the description that was made of the hoplite representatives, which for the first time sat next to the close history of a hegemon. The Sibyls arrived commanded by the Delphic Herophilus, they were served wine of conjectured reverse blood of the Mataki, but from the ground preceded the greatest libation on spring propitiation equipment, which made ties of amnesty where everything reigned for self-correction of the brutality of the symposia, where nothing did. take into account what would happen with the stipend of Vernarth, who still watched delightedly as more guests soared from the wind tunnel of the Profitis Ilias that expelled them.
The ashamed gods hid behind the chandeliers that shone with the ****** waxes of Aristeo, and the polis that made the grape harvest of Sponde, drinking the effluvia of Persephone in the meeting of the songs with her mother, pouring out the earthy gynoecium that awaits the ceremonial, before only those who observe and self-correct. Dew-water poured down from Aegean swells with gorges plagued by a voracious and invasive rain of flavonoid metabolites; of the plants that poured down the gorge that Demeter broke into, on flat and monumental glasses so that all those who arrived with dexterous fists, could give rise to the mixed drink of libation with essences of the sleet turned into the blood for the chalices on the table together al Mataki, who was beginning to replenish himself with the pure essence of necromancy, to begin with, the suppressions of evil eyes, on the hoplites that began to horde them and protect them from a certain visual intoxication.
Seven Mataki Polyélaios
Aaron LaLux Oct 2017
“Please be careful with my left ******.”,

her request comes with a clutching of my hair,
and a gentle yet firm pulling of my head,
away from her right breast,
and into the nape of her neck,

“Why?”,

I ask,
innocent enough,
as I settle into,
my repositioned position.

“Do you really want to know?”

“Of course I do,
that’s why I asked.”

“Well, I had a surgery last year,
I had a tumor in my breast,
and had to have a surgery,
it was actually quite risky and I’m lucky to be alive.”

“Oh.”

I reply.

When anyone says anything so intense and so real,
there is only one of two ways to truly respond,
either with an equal amount of intensity,
or with a mellow affirmation of unconditional acceptance,

I accept when,
she offers her Truth,
and I see that she is an old soul,
even though her body’s still in it’s youth,

you,
can judge if you want to,
I’m in my 30’s and she’s 22,
but honestly with Love there are no rules,

when love abruptly finds you,
at the intersection of two soul’s life’s paths,
particularly when the two souls are travelers,
specifically when those two travelers are traveling,
you have two options,
1.) ignore every instinct to embrace each other or,
2.) plunge head first in the type of leap of faith that only love knows,

I choose the latter,
later,
we find ourselves again,
flowing in a whirlpool of pheromones,

where I find myself,
with my hand upon her mouth,
holding her breath,
to the point of panic,

see I’d always found pleasure in pain,
I suppose it’s a form of perverse dominance,
but the truth is anytime anyone feels uncomfortable,
whatever you’re doing is the opposite of what romance is,

anyways,

just as she teeters on the brink of asphyxiation,
she tears my hand away,
not nearly as gently as she’d pulled my head away,
just a few hours earlier in the evening,

soon,
tears swell and break her eyelashed levees,
bathing her cheeks and my shoulders,
in the salty brine of past torments,

the storm went,
on for hours,
her sentiments the storm clouds,
my shoulder the conscious ground on which she showered,

or rather the conscience ground on which she showered,

finally,
I asked her,
why what I had done,
had caused such an effect,
I mean,
I know,
what I did was wrong,
but honestly this many tears I did not expect,

“Please,
tell me,
why so many tears,
is it what happened now or what happened in past years?”

She pauses,
takes a breath,
then continues,
where she’d earlier left,

“When I was ten,
I almost drowned,
my brother threw me in a pool,
I hit my head and became momentarily paralyzed.”,

her pair of eyes,
staring directly into mine,
I saw in that instant,
that as strong as she was/is/will be,
she is still just such a little girl,
so fragile and breakable,
as intelligent as she was/is/will be,
she is still learning and growing and,

I see how wrongly I’ve treated her,
I see how much she’s been through in the past,
and I want to apologize for everything,
I want to take every misguided action back,

she gave me her trust completely,
and I all did was stab her in the back,

and I want to take back every misguided action but I can’t,
because the past has passed,
so instead of trying to go back,
or give her misused excuses I answer the only way I can,

“I’m so sorry.”,

“I apologize,
on behalf of all men,
and I'm not asking for our memories to be forgot,
I'm just asking for our memories to be forgiven,

because memories are tricky things,
and we both have our own versions,
but either way one thing I can say definitely,
is consent isn’t meant to mean yes when it’s said through coercion,

so again I must say I apologize,
on behalf of all men I offer this apology,
I can’t even pretend my actions were justified,
please forgive us for we know not what we did and we’re sorry,

we messed up completely,
I accept that completely,
we deserve to be ridiculed and shamed,
we don't deserve you we lost you when we lost our dignity,

we fck up totally,
we didn’t know what else to do,
but what’s someone to do when they’re as lost as you,
and no this isn’t meant as an excuse it's just the truth,

because we both know that excuses,
just lead to more abuses,
so this not an exercise in excuses this is an honest apology,
this is exactly what the truth is,

and I don’t know what else to say,
other than I’ll never ever repeat those mistakes,
please the only thing worse than getting my heart broken,
is seeing I’m the cause of someone else’s heartbreak,

see we’ve all been through,
too much trauma it’s true,
see we’ve all been ignored and abused,
definitely you and yes even me too,”....

Me.
Too.

See when anyone says anything so intense and so real,
there is only one of two ways to truly respond,
either with an equal amount of intensity,
or with a mellow affirmation of unconditional acceptance,

and,

I.
Am.
So.
Sorry.

I’ve been entirely too rough with her,
subconsciously inflicting her,
with not so subtle hints of,
all the miseries I’ve been through,

she does not deserve this,
I do not deserve this we do not deserve this,
she/I/we deserve to be in love’s service,
not servants to a fake love that’s perverted and hurts us,

she deserves just,
to be treated of course
equally unconditionally,
with delicate care and support,

I deserve,
to be treated of course
equally unconditionally,
with delicate care and support,

I need to be a strong man,
not a scared little boy,
a real man treats females as strong women,
not as weak little toys,

I need to treat her exactly like I strong man should,
and return to feel her gratitude,
see true strength comes from a place of love,
hate is weak love is tough,

and we are tough enough to change our course,

and I apologize because everyone makes mistakes,
but not everyone admits them,
and that is the difference,
between a real man and a fake one,

there's not a single person out there,
that has not messed up,
so if you think someone's perfect,
they aren't they just haven't confessed yet.

You are too real with me,
for me to be fake with you,
and yeah we are all broken,
but help me fix me and I'll help you fix you.

We deserve to be presently in love,
without having to drag any of our past pains into this,
and when I think of how much I hurt you,
it makes me want to take a knife and slash my wrist,
makes my heart plummet and my stomach feels tight,
makes me want to throw myself up out of me I feel so sick,
makes me want to punch myself in the head,
makes me want to swim away never come back and cut off my d!ck,

makes me want to forget,
makes me want to drown out the memories with alcohol,
makes me want to take recreational drugs to try and forget,
because I don’t want to remember or recall,

I just want to cleanse myself of myself,
just fckn want to **** myself I'm so riddled with guilt,
but if I’ve seen my mistakes and am ready to correct them,
then what good is going to come from killing myself?

Because the ones that feel the least guilty,
are usually the ones that’ve caused the greatest crimes,
so instead of choosing death which would solve nothing,
I decide to correct my wrongs and choose life,

I decide to listen more,
to treat all women as Universal Sisters,
which brings me to the next chapter of this story,
where after she admits to me I admit to her,

see she admits,
of her flirt with death,
when she was ten,
and then it’s my turn to admit this,

“My little sister drowned,
when I was 12,
due to my abusive stepfather’s negligence,
she drowned five days before her first birthday.

The wings tattooed on my back,
are in honor of her,
for she is my Guardian Angel,
she keeps Death at my doorstep but does not let Him in,
even though He incessantly knocks,
and one day He’ll get his way,
I never want to hurt you again Love,
and in honor of my little sister that passed away,
and all of the women and girls including you,
I’m changing my ways,
and there’s no better time than now,
so I’m starting right now right here today.”.

Now it is her turn to respond,
still teary-eyed she turns to me and says,
“I’m so sorry,
and thank you.”

“It’s okay my stepdad was a horrible man,
and my little sister is probably better off on the other side,
I’m sure I’ll be seeing her soon anyways,
plus I saw a rainbow above when she died,
and I took the rainbow above when she passed,
as a good omen and a good sign.”,

the tears finally recede,
and the smiles come like rainbows after a hard rain,
see the truth is all this we live is poetry,
see sometimes to feel joy we need to first feel pain,

relating to someone else’s pain is all we really need,
to not feel so bad though it is somewhat sad,
that human experience experiences so much sadness,
and must have such a painfully poetic path.

It is a miracle,
that after all her and I have been through,
after the damage that’s been done to us,
including both of us being sexually abused,
that we are even able to trust at all,
and not just to trust but to love at all,
to let down our walls,
and to feel anything at all,

honestly,
so many have just turned off,
and the fact that we are still on,
and we are in love is a testimony,
to the overcoming power of love,
to the healing power of love,
and to the graces of unconditional acceptance,

I accept her,
and all of her scars,
unconditionally,
and we will work together to build a better tomorrow,

and she accepts me,
and all of my scars,
unconditionally,
and we will work together to build a better tomorrow.

There's a world of hurt out there,
and we all have something to say just need a platform,
so find someone out there that needs some help,
and show them some unconditional support.

The world is not perfect,
and neither are we,
but the world is beautiful,
and so too are we,

so we ride into the future’s unknown,
grateful for the lessons that help us grow,
and we appreciate our moments here together,
because we both know all too well that everybody goes,

so,

find someone to love,
and please be gentle,
and remember to be kind and touch with care,
whether it's the heart the soul or the ******,

let's be kind,
and also be strong,
and let's embrace these moments,
before we're both forever gone...

∆ Aaron LA Lux ∆

author/poet/human
In Solidarity
Leenie V Jan 2015
I have been wearing a bracelet of green beads bought from a charity,
With a thin gray circular disc (a severe charm!) attached,
Upon which the word GROWTH in blunt font is raised.
And then, beneath that, what I assume to be
The symbol for GROWTH in the script of some dialect:
It looks like a roughly scratched “T,” somewhat like a dagger.
As I go throughout my day the circle brushes my wrist;
If it were sharper it could lightly cut the skin.
In odd moments I’ve shaken the beads and repositioned
The charm so it laid flat against the back of my hand,
As though I could absorb the sentiment.
It would be a little indulgent on its own,
But in the chaos of my current days I do it bemusedly.
Lately I have been thinking of how personalities encounter history
And are changed.  Does the person shape history or does history
Shape the person?  There has to be cosmic selection
At work for some—obviously Voltaire, for example, was made for the French, For the Enlightenment!  But time breaks over all of us
Totally.  Time shapes us interestingly.  The craziness and force
Of everything I’ve brushed up against lately has surprised me,
And worn me down somewhat.  
I was surprised, too, sliding on the bracelet for the first time,
when I saw the big green beads interrupted by
The charm's message.
Canyon Read Jul 2015
I could write about anything
and no one would stop and think.
Everything's been said before.
Rephrased and repositioned
to the point of impotency.
i crouched
one knee to the floor and one up
facing god and his holy host
gasping for air and dribbling
knowing everyone that ive hurt indefinitely
wishing none of it was true
taking it back with tears
hoping "were alone now"
would ever be made honest
when the tune dies down
and the crust dries
on my high cheeks
something may have been developed
my mind anew
thoughts reconfigured
life repositioned
with imaginations like these
who needs

what are those called
cousins
no
the other ones
concerns

close enough
Secret lotteries will be held
Things will be decided

Underneath hanging prisons
atmospheric pressure adapts to gravitys constraints

This is who shall die
It was decided fairly

Tom
Sharon
Niel
And Garret

They will be informed
and procedings will commence imediately

Death hung on nails in the wood
Darkness cowered from the depths of hell
Frequency streams electrified infinity
Planets exploded then re-appeared in an instant
Warriors and monsters drank each others blood

Tom
You first

Grey

Sharon
Grey

Niel and Garret
You go together

Grey Grey

Repositioned particles bare no resemblance to their
former selves after an instant of infinity

The rest are safe now
Jay M Nov 2019
Four seated
In a pizza place
Sharing a pizza
Cheesy and delicious
New York style
Talk between bites

Reaching for the Parmesan
The table slides
Hits one of them
Right in the gut

Pizza drops
Back on the paper plate
Grease splattering
Eyes wide
Heads turn
Bodies shift in their seats
To see the sound
Strange noise
From the little table
Table of four

Laughing it off
All things resume
They continue to eat
That greasy, cheesy pizza

Talk of life
Current events
Bites of pizza
Two slices left
Split and taken
Being eaten
When...

Slide
The table
So killer
Slides to one
Hitting their gut
Making them grunt

Pizza drops
Heads turn
Bodies shift
Movement from all about
The pizza place
Eyes fall upon them

Laughter
Then the table is fixed
Repositioned
Then the pizza
Cheesy and greasy
Is devoured
Talk goes on
All resumes

After a time
The four leave
Cleaning up their trash
And leaving behind
That killer table.

- Jay M
November 28th, 2019
My mom, sister, my friend Cadence and I went to Bronx pizza the other night for dinner. The table slid to our guts twice, and we made a joke about "the killer table". So, I said I'd write a poem about it. Here it is. :)
Kurt Philip Behm Jul 2018
It’s a comedy of errors…
  the clowns and actors inside

When for two millennia,
  they served to amuse and abide

The patriots and righteous
  once made all the laws

But now the Halls of Congress
  by their presence are flawed

Through political correctness,
  the blind pretend that they see

With our future in peril,
  they laugh at our pleas

A carnival sideshow
  they make of the truth

As the press and the movies
  back up what’s uncouth

They lie in our face
  with the darkest of plans

Their excuses in concert
  now leading the band

Like the rats in the cellar
  and the bats in the barn

To the hills we must drive them
  where they can do no more harm

And the power repositioned
  among the brave and the wise

Who care first for their country
  —keeping freedom alive

(Villanova Pennsylvania: July, 2018)
Rainbows for chasing,
the moon for the aiming,
forming in clouds, faces
for inspiration,
beckoning, is life ahead
full of credible opportunity,
beside empty promises creating,
truthful reality.
Standing tall, girding *****
I, reached for the unreachable
so - distantly close,  impulsive forward, surges.
without doubt,
or plan,
missing by the - conceivably smallest,
actually - furthest amount,
yet still moving through,
pushing the immovable, climbing
the inaccessible,
falling - frequently,
never reaching nethermost depth,
buoyed by a recognition,
realising - all this fighting - striving
failing - miserably,
doing it all - wrong,
was not failure, but a justified lesson
on coping in the mire of existence.
The rainbows beauty explained in science,
gives it simplicity. A reality water and sunlight,
nothing really to chase,
or catch.
Moon - oh moon - my most favourite, still my dreamstone,
is but a stark beautiful presence,
removing sunlight reveals a satellite bleak,
nothing is here to seek,
or take aim,
likewise our cloud perceived faces,
expectations are best - unexpected.
If controlled by endeavour and aquasition
disappointment may be somewhat - repositioned,
attainment of skills formerly devoid of utilisation
revived, re-given to make something, that in truth,
can be ameliorated.
if only to yours truly
.
Still Chasing Rainbows . Michael C Crowder 10th March 2019 @scorsby
one day at a time
Some diadochi came escaping from the Vóreios of Zefian, the ships of Boeotia married the dynastic of the new progenies of their infants, who prepared them for the fourth Bestiary, which in turn also escaped from the third Bestiary of the bear that tore apart everything that presented itself, within its claws and its jaws. The third imperialist beast of the bestiary was Hellenistic; It had bear claws and crushed the fish of the Aegean Sea with its fangs, this, in turn, tried to grab the dragon's back with its snout with the bear's paws and the feline's steel claws to stretch them over its lion's jaws, unleashing the inter-bestiary that severed the parallelism of the Amphictyony and the Apocalypse, summoning Alexander the Great to revive him from his larnax in the highest Prophet Ilias, this will entail the ablution of his soul and appropriation of his new empire of the Seventh Heaven to atone for all the atrocities of his empire of Blood and Corruption. Alexander the Great was aware of the existential drama of eternity for him, in order to aspire to be anointed as a Converted King and dispense with the root of the inter-bestiary in the claws of the bear with the claws of steel of the lion of the fourth bestiary. They all sailed by one major mast starting from the Delphic prophecy of Herophile, which transfigured the Trojan chronology by more island resources into dramatic new deity cultures with over twelve deities which had to include one more of the demi-god Vernarth totally dissuaded from the plague of Aristaeus in great dishonor due to the taxonomic Animalia that was in its vanguard, re-leveling the nuanced skies, also the oceans that were erected mostly on the level of Hisarlik with thirty-three meters above sea level, plus as many from the cavern to 269, and under the Prophet Ilias of 798 as a consequence of parallel parapsychology with Troy. The theological transcendental civilizing mission trembled to the Tempe valley, Thessaly specifically in the small valley in the Agia Paraskevi church, for altars that will return the ancestral domains of the locality to their voices near the Arethusa fountain. From here they will triangulate the libertarian magnificence of the animality of the bees of Gethsemane for the reciprocal of the source of Castalia, up to the Source of life on Patmos as the second coming of Jesus. From where Eurydice will always flee as she once was away from Aristaeus, so as not to be bitten by the serpent. All this transcription of the double consequence of immortal Eurydice brought gifts for each component of the Hexagonal Primogeniture, making sure that Aristeo's bees did not die, being saved by Vernarth's bees, who redoubled submythology, hanging on it as a parallel classical narrative in the construction of the Duoverse under the Áullos Kósmos. The three sources were unified with Vóreios, becoming the patrimony of the Moshaic gods for the good of an outstanding Mythological virtue with sub-mythological parallelism, with gods conditioned in the rabbinic divinity. They undertook the glamorous descent with the vapors of Delphi with their ethanol, alleviating Alikantus towards the pilgrim resulting from his connotation of a taurine steed close to a ram, but of Delphic psychic magnetism saving potential victims with the repeal of the beekeeping world of Aristaeus.

The gods of Faith went hand in hand, in some cases, they did not recognize their gender or status, but rather the divine and ineffable condition of the unrepentant Seventh Heaven, ad libitum of Titania as a mental abstraction of pro-Olympic labyrinths, which have not born under the eaves of it. Spring and winter came arrogating themselves in all the rapes and abductions of the flowers that would not germinate, and that would go away due to the promiscuous twilight that was made of dawn in some flowers that did germinate on the defenseless edge. The converted Alexander the Great caressed the tunic that he looked at more than the one used by the maiden, he looked towards his own chlamys that did not make him helpless from his gaze in the ability to transform into a Converted King, almost like a beautiful celestial lion after leaving the libidinous gestures of Astarte as a foreign goddess and mother of the lift that made her doubt the rain that was refined as a gregarious hostess in celibate women who tried in outbursts of Alexander the Great by removing Astarte's veil of darkness, in cases of lost loves of the transcript Forest of Hylates, or in the awakening of the Apennines when it was the trophy of a felid winged tetra in the rooms of the runaway Bayard of Charlemagne.

The rain bathed millennia that traveled from the boreal of Vóreios to the insane Argive spaces in the Peloponnese where the first maiden hangs her braids sixteen times to forty times more, before all the brides who stay awake in the hours that have not sworn eternal misogyny. Spring served winter mead with sweet late-harvest wine from the valley of the Sharon plain, they embraced by the chamsin, squabbling in the sand that Zefian had hoarded before enchanted by the interval of Delphi. The north and south forks dried up the cobblestones of the dusty ground, where the chamsin reverberated suffering for more than forty-six weeks, making light prey on the song of the three sources of Life, the Castalia and the source of Arethusa. A solemn red stain could be seen on the little sky that blinded the chairs that held the intramurals of the wind tunnel, breathing on the chamsin turning it into murals of dust forced to channel it and always be levitating in the gushes that shelled drops of rain, and sand in the disturbed electrical animations that made him possessed in the spiers at the mere tone of liquid marble in which they already spoke of Hellenic modernity of barbarism of the Ruah Qadím, banishing the spire from the east wind for fifty days. The lights and festivities could be seen illuminating from the feared height when descending from the diminished light of the amplified candle; everything resembled a dwelling where everyone was seated at a long table that had no end in the center of seven candlesticks, seven bread baskets, with a chalice, everyone gossiping along with the bees of Gethsemane that did everything in their glosses and nectars that they celebrated in the mansions gleaming with the transit of the muffins of San Juan and its Hexagonal. Raeder clung to the red and blue Gerakis with gold seams that talked of dining and their oblate.

They began to sit away from the cruel gods of those gods who deny their children who were engendered by the cruelest and most chaste reconversion by staying on Olympus as guests, as opposed to sitting at this free table of the very well-valued elixir with the deities invited Phrygian women, who only laughed and favored the secrecy of the bread of eternity, and well-being that was subject to the conscious tolerance of who await a lavish banquet on a table in these conditions with mood and prolonged perspective and tablecloths of penance and cross in exotic chores. They drank the hanging sheep on the branches of the fruits that hung from the cornucopia, and the baking that altered the enzymes of some harsh dispute against Asia, which Leiak concocted with benevolent sorcery by giving it sip water from the drinking sea of Asia Minor. in front of illuminated Troy. The table is made of seven bread baskets, seven mistletoes that escorted the gluten bread that was sprinkled by Persephone's strong winds as she fell hastily and longing to meet Demeter; she is picking it up from the gale with her feet pulverizing the soft grains of Hapalos Artos, with goat's milk and olives that she would anoint on the very nails of her daughter Persephone of hers when cleaning them with white leaves of the dough fluffy It used to be called Cappadocia yeast until it reached the edges of the noble bread that were installed on the table as Lakhma bread as a metaphysic of the Eucharist that took place on the white tablecloth that shrank every time it was taken as domestic bread when rolled in the angry parts of the Mataki tablecloth, for healings that continue from the protective actions of those who take advantage of a good alliance of water, and the bread on the table with bad thoughts that anger the battered thick curtains of abundance and prosperity of the ill had. The Iaspis or Jaspers resembled supra scalded as of natural belonging and shimmering authenticity in the rarity that did nothing more than make buffoons from Southeast Asia and not from Asia Minor. The greenish flashes spoke of life at full strength to fit followed by a wisp of flash deposited by Zefian coming and gliding in the seasonal, holding on to some veins of the Alikantus sapphire eyes that were adapted to sipping from the dense spring that floated through the waves. The atmosphere of the Mataki, to later pour it into the chalices absorbed by Leiak's sorcery, speaking of superior lapses of any known numeral but the seventieth preceding the current one. This martyrdom of the Mataki made Leiak's esophagus secrete with the desire of a sommelier who sips the distilled water from the ravines over the chalices that lessened the badly criminal cruelty of those who do not taste the food for another dinner, congratulations if there was a failure of the Caucasus, where elixirs of mixed and sanctified muscatel wine are brought out under the table of San Juan. Everything was of ascending ambition for any liver who coveted this table of Mataki for whom he cordoned off the mountains and made those of the valleys embrace each other, for the uniqueness of the Dodecanese islands. All of those who let go of their shyness and did not allow them to refer to drinking or eating deposed by paying sacred attention to Zefian when he arrived on Patmos as a physical, and not spiritual taste, becoming effective in those who toast with muscatel for all the star maidens who followed him above, violating the seals that held them prisoner, then just then the eye of the Iaspis was made of the karats for its recalculation, subjecting them to the safeguard to signify and meet at this time between seven polyélaios, and seven discopotira immediately to the bag of the phasmatemporos or Enchanted Paneros to taste Self-corrections were approaching with the necromancies of Leiak, they took the seven candlesticks or Polyélaios, and the seven chalices or Diskopótira immediately to the bags of the Fasmatemporos or bread basket, the crimes were archaically repositioned in this Mataki tablecloth enchanted by Leiak, the sin was self-corrected in the parallel line of slip doubly marked as a sin of omission, and concessional violation of the desert's desire to self-correct fully empty having hands with wax from the candelabrum of Kerós' spell or wax made by the bees of Aristaeus to please the avatars present at this inaugural banquet, for libations that spilled part of the lipoids of the bees of Gethsemane, along with those of Aristeo to clean the ground mixed with parasitic spiders that ****** the milk that fell from their rituals. By nightfall of the third dream, the Mataki was wrinkled by thousands of leg joints from mating arachnids from the spider's trochanter drenched in milk and Corinthian wine.

The precautionary did not wake them from the third sleep when they had just broken the bread and made the libation for the first time with alcuzas that shone superimposed on the icons of the Attic vases, here is the lavish clothing of the entomological world under thousands of overloaded spiders in the Mataki, and it is overloaded on the oak inn that supported it towards the entirety of the Tagmati in the formation of a model of hoplite spiders that would transform into specialized units formed by the deprecation of the bees of Aristeo by balancing the unevenness of the tables by attaching them with the figured beards in the icons of the vases, where they saw these images of the future and past with the Tagmati with Byzantine expressions of Constantine V, and with Philip II dispensing financing for the new military uniform of the hoplites completely financed by the Greek coffers, naming him hegemon of the Amphictyony after Philip entered central Greece and won the battle from Chaeronea (338 BC) to the Thebans and Athenian allies, here seven thousand of the fallen Athenian and Theban allies graced the figure of Demosthenes, for new vessels encrypted with Philip's iconic images "Lover of Steeds" where a spear crosses hearts in the offspring of his horses in his heart too, wronged by the page Pausanias of Oréstide as royal guard. Gradually the table was made with more guests represented in the numismatics that ran through the drag of the cornucopia, and in the majolicas that classified the blood represented right there on free floors to self-correct for all the ****** campaign carried out by Philip and his corrupt but unifying mission to dissuade providential enemies unworthy of sitting at the historical table of the Amphictyony remembered in these vessels, on top of the Mataki that absorbed liters and liters per second of the blood that was drained by the description made of the hoplite representatives, who for the first time They once sat next to the close track record of a hegemon. The Sibyls arrived commanded by the Herophile Delphic, they were served wine of conjectured blood reverted from the Mataki but from the ground preceded the greatest libation on spring propination equipment that made amnesty bonds where everything reigned for self-correction of the brutality of the symposiums, where nothing made to have Bearing in mind what would happen to Vernarth's stipend, he was still delighted to see more guests come up from the wind tunnel of the Profitis Ilias that expelled them.

The ashamed gods hid behind the candlesticks that shone with the ****** waxes of Aristaeus, and the polis that harvested the Sponde, sipping the effluvia of Persephone in the meeting of the canticles with her mother, pouring out the earthly gynaeceum that awaits the ceremonial, before only those who observe and correct themselves. Spray water fell from tidal waves from the Aegean with throats plagued by a ravenous and invasive rain of flavonoid metabolites; of the plants that poured down the gorge that Demeter burst upon, flat and monumental goblets for all who arrived with skillful fists to give rise to the mixed consumption of libation with essences of the sleet turned into the blood for the chalices on the table next to the Mataki, which began to replenish pure essence of necromancy to start with the suppressions of evil eyes on the hoplites that began to pierce them and protect them from a certain visual intoxication.
Vóreios
Big Virge Jun 2021
So It’s CLEAR Now...
That We’re... Living...

In A World of ALGORITHMS... !!!
Now Making PREDICTIONS...
And Taking Positions...
From Those of Physicians...
To Those Who Had Visions...
of... Making A Living...

WITHOUT Algorithms... !!!

The Human Condition’s...
Being... REPOSITIONED... !!!

So These Words Are Written...
To Give People Visions...

of What We COULD Be Seeing...
In Our... FUTURE Dealings... ?!?

LESS Human Decisions...
As Humans Are DRIVEN...
To Embrace Modern TECH...
That’ll Make Them JOBLESS... ?!?

Because ALGORITHMS...
Now Deal In Predictions...
That Work With PRECISION... !!!

And... DON’T Call In Sick...
Or DEMAND More WAGES... !!!

A Future UNLIKE...
ANYTHING From Past Times... !!!

Where... A.I. Will Drive...
And I Guess Make Drive Byes...
WITHOUT Human Guides... ?!?!?

… Artificial Intelligence...
Becoming Street Regiments...
That Will Now Set Precedents...
Where New Tech Is PREVALENT... !!!

Because of The DATA...
That’s Now... NOT On Paper... !!!

We’re Facing New Flavours...
That AREN’T Those To Savour... !!!
If New Tech Gets GREATER...
Than It’s... HUMAN Makers... ?!?

From... Examinations...
To Grading That’s Making...
Students Question Placements...
For Their Education...

We Clearly Are Facing...
Human DEGRADATION... !!!

DON’T DISMISS These Statements...
As Those Just INFLATING... !!!

RESISTANCE To Changing...
For... New Age Arrangements... !!!

I’m Simply Suggesting...
That These Algorithms...
May Help Things To Quicken...

But Humans Need LIVINGS...
Instead of Conditions...
Where TECH Is PREDICTING...
In Ways UNFORGIVING... !!!

Call These PREMONITIONS...
If That’s What Your Thinking...

And DON’T Be FORGETTING...
This Thing Called RACISM... !!!

Algorithms Are NOW...
Using Data To CLOUD...
Conviction Decisions...
For Crims’ Put In Prisons... !!!

It’s DEEPER Than Critics...
Are Writing In Lyrics...
About All This Business... !!!

Connected To Visions...
FUELLED By ALGORITHMS... !!!

That Are Used To Form Groups...
That’s Right Like... FACEBOOK...
And Instagram... TOO... !!!

And Financial Decisions...
Are Now Causing FRICTION... !!!

Because They’re Now Made...
By Tech That OUTWEIGHS...
The Thoughts of The Brains...
Who’ve Put Tech...

...... CENTRE STAGE...... ?!?

While Bullets Are Sprayed...
By Police Due To RAGE...
INFLAMED By RACE HATE... !!!

But HEY That’s OKAY... !!!

Algorithms Have Made...
A Way To Change Games...
That Policeman Now Play...
So Defunding Them Is...
A... QUICK Way To FIX...
These Enforcement Racists... !!!

When One Simple CLICK...
Can Make DRONES Do The Things...
That Policeman Now Do...
Like... ERRONEOUS Shoots... !!!

DON'T Get It CONFUSED... !?!

When Someone Shoots You...
From A Drone Controlled Room... !!!

What Are You Gonna Do... ?
And WHO Will You ACCUSE... ?

Now This ISN’T Sci-Fi...
Or A Film To Be Viewed... !!!

This Could Be REAL LIFE...
If People Aren’t SHREWD... !!!

And YES SLOW DOWN The Use...
of... Algorithmic TOOLS... !!!

It’s A World of NEW VISIONS... !!!

But As The Guy Said...
In The Show Called DARK NET...

Who Was Tech Connected...
From His Feet To His Head... !?!

Humans NEED HUMANS... !!!

Because We Were Here...
LONG BEFORE The Internet... !!!

And Those Who’ve Positioned...
Themselves On Tech Missions...
Should Really Have LISTENED...
To WISE Heads Who’ve Written...
About The TECH THREAT...
To The Human Condition... !!!

That May Well Face EXTINCTION... !!!

Because of DECISIONS...
And Financial KILLINGS... !!!

That Could Be Those INFLICTED......

By All These...

....... “ ALGORITHMS “...... !!!
Algorithms can do a lot of good, bad and, CRAZY Things, be careful how much dependence you place upon them.
wichitarick Oct 2017
COLOR OF HAPPINESS

Approaching middle ground looking back,does a certain palate bring a smile

Perhaps pink or blue given to make us coo,rosy red cheeks telling a simple tale

Yellow sun taught as fun,sky not gray but brilliant blue,looking down for glowing  green grasses not the dead earth perceived as vile

Red & white candy stripers a helping hand or holiday candy canes, uplifting, something to regale

A tank sits idle,clear water just mild ,but adding some life ,a few fins they shimmer
electric blue,neon green and a few gold fish brings new style

Pale empty pots take no position until repositioned with plenty of posy's ,without new shades all would be stale

Smiley face has no grace when seen in black & white ,more fun in sunny hues their fun faces will always inspire

Rainbow forming from gray is an instant show, making short work for a frown to grow helping to reshape our own profile

Every person takes a favorite ,each cause chooses another hue, brighter showing more view ,lesser tones blinding desire

Drink it in like a pretty party punch it's sweetness softens our affairs,will it help or change what we cast ,brighten a dull day make it worthwhile

So when do we refrain from hiding in shadows to basking in limelight ,taking in a moment of what is bright,Break through the whitewash to something we admire
R.C
A few thoughts or feelings on how we take in what is around us,have long wondered how color effects personality or how certain types of people can not be comfortable unless everything is flat? or beige. This is a lower tone but similar thoughts when I painted the house PINK & PURPLE :) thanks for reading. your input is appreciated. Rick
dZang Roller Jun 2015
Someone wakes up
Feeling the same way
Every day!
Their view isn't affected by mood
Chemical shifts
Love
Things learned
The cosmos repositioned their guts
Their feet feel like walking or no.
They remain attuned to the same thing.
I guess they are true.
Not me
(20 minute poetry)

Day breaks
a thousand different shapes
(an open door policy)
escape's impossible
probably.

possibly is my
redoubt
I cling to the Sun
(a loaded gun)
hide out in space
but
best face forward.

Onward
the light erupts
eyes engage.

Shapes,
this is it
irregular
but
some seem to fit.

I fit in,
repositioned,
tumblers falling into place
best face
forward.

In years to come
some will study
and
call it poetry
or
make mincemeat of me
I
don't care.
Mitchell Mar 2021
Pain is a past
And
Future portrait
Of what was
And what is
To come.

Beneath the muscles,
The bone; this phosphorous
Soul of mine teetering on the edge
Of extinction and anonymity,
There is a burning.

The sensation
Itself
Is faint. Pick up a jar
Of pickles to a lick
Of fire.

Bring a hand
To the cheek
Of the one I love,
And there is a kiss
Of fleeting ash.

Rollover
Play dead
No man passed
Cares
Whether they lived
At the end for
They are dead.

Legacy resides in pain.
Trauma, injury, is our
Paradigm for progress.

We desire hurtles.

Anything too easy
Will be repositioned,
Remodeled,
Retold to fit the prospectives

Narrative.

Are we not all seeking
To be the hero
In this story

Of ours?

Of humanities?

If so (you cannot deny it)

How will the future children
View your digital cave drawings?

How will they listen to your tales
Through air pods, podcasts, and
VR reinterpretations?

What secrets will they find
That you believed
You hid
So well?

Will you even care?
Will

They?
Roudan Apr 2018
It's beautiful how the light of sun reflects the inverted image of your body through the vessels of  my monochromatic eyes, moving towards my brain ready to be repositioned, adjusted and religiously translated.
It's beautiful how the color of your eyes is a bit of every other color. Only your lips of black cherries and your hair of gold barley  whispering and swinging in the wind.
It's beautiful how you came into being  to understand what you are becoming and seeing beyond where you are going towards
It's beautiful when you laugh and you are sad at the same time.
Its beautiful when you dance, when you swim, when you dream.
It's beautiful when you talk about innocence not realizing how naive you can sometimes may be.
Its beautiful to smell the summer stuck on you, the winter, spring and autumn too...
But is nothing more beautiful than the way you can truly love!
Keven May 2018
This is for no one but me...and I will have anyone who is caught hacking any of my computers thrown directly into one of the jails for life. Part of me, on the inside, screams nearly endlessly in such a spectacular fashion; I just have to deal with it or I will die and everything...but not forever...because my spirit will simply depart from this vessel and I’ll probably take shape somewhere else in the universe. I have the final word and say and everything about my life and/or existence so I gotta make it really great or I’m a loser.
I don’t wanna be a loser; no one does...not even losers.
Why do I feel like screaming and who or what do I feel like screaming to or at?
Things are so crazy. I don’t even know what to do with my time. I have been here for so long. I hope things go from good or okay to amazing and happy. What do I have to worry about? What am I doing right or wrong? These are good questions. I don’t have all the answers. Sometimes I barely know what to do. Are things better or worse?
I make a lot of decisions...even if it doesn’t seem like I do.
This is the type of thing you’d wanna do with something like this. The statue on my desk rattles too much as I type. I don’t like it...like the statue...just not the way it rattles. The problem is solved because I just repositioned the statue in such a way that it no longer rattles against the wall.
All I care about is typing.
The gorgeous evening sky,
With a lovely hue,
Succumbs to the transforming—
E’er to bid adieu.

Slowly, the sky’s conforming,
Though reluctant to.
Taking on another look,
As skies are wont to.

All morphing before the eye,
The clouds rearrange.
With repositioned sunrays,
The colors ever change.
Footnote: E'er is the contraction for ‘ever’.
Eric Aug 2019
Once again , I feel repositioned, my ears have failed to listen. And her love once gifted is now forbidden. It's a curse , that's always does it's worst. Secondly it always comes first. For her I thirst. For her I burst. Into tears cause I remember all the good in those years . I even remember the good that came from the fears .And I'm still here . Like the rock she threw with all her might , far away out of her sight.  Somewhere she wouldn't care.  Cause she isn't there to see.  What it is here to fear.  The emptiness, the darkness, myself .

— The End —